


Make It Hot, Make It Now

by Maple_Fay



Series: Tumblr reposts [10]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: AU prompt, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple_Fay/pseuds/Maple_Fay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My Tumblr promptee asked for a J/C story on a writing prompt about two baristas whose constant bantering (no flirting, nuh-uh, absolutely none of that) has been causing certain issues in the managing of a certain coffee joint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Hot, Make It Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Napoleonic Power Monger (Rynegade)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynegade/gifts).



> Title from Dave Dudley’s "Coffee, Coffee, Coffee". Enjoy!

_**make it hot, make it now** _

“Dad’s been threatening to put you back on the morning shift,” Tom remarks casually, passing her a cigarette. Kathryn frowns and inhales greedily, her break almost over.

“Is he  _trying_ to get me to quit? Why would he even do such a thing?”

“Because of you and Chuckles, obviously.” Tom waggles his eyebrows at her, unusually smug. She rolls her eyes in response, and takes one more drag before giving the cigarette back to him.

“Don’t call him that. I happen to think that his name is very nice. It has this—“

“’Wild, dangerous native’ vibe to it? Why, Miss Janeway! I never would have pegged you for a—“

“Oh, shut  _up_  already!” she punches his arm none too playfully, and leaps up from the box they’ve been sitting on, way into the shadows of an alley behind Café du Paris. “There’s nothing going on between Chakotay and me. Why wouldn’t people believe it, and leave us be for once?”

“Because you’re both acting like you’re back in junior high, only more sarcastic and with a considerably larger sex-related vocabulary, when you’re together. And although it’s great fun watching you guys ‘work it’, it’s also a bit disappointing seeing people turn back from the door the moment they realize you’re not on together. Why, I spoke to Lanna the other night, and she said—“

“Oh?” she interrupts him, stealing the cigarette one last time. “The other  _night_ , was it? And here I was, thinking Lanna’s been mostly covering morning these past few weeks…”

Tom blushes furiously, his eyes throwing daggers at her. “You’re an evil, evil person, Janeway. And if you tell my father about this, I swear I’ll—“

“Promises, promises,” she pats his shoulder, returning the cigarette—or rather, a glowing butt—to him. “Good luck with that one, Tom. And remember: she’s got some serious jujitsu moves. Better not make her use them.”

“I don’t intend to,” he replies, looking more serious than she’s ever seen him. “Just… keep that savage of yours off my case, Kath, and I might actually get a chance not to screw it up.”

She wants to snap at him, both for calling her Kath (she doesn’t let just anyone shorten her name, and that time for Tom and her has long since passed) and implying that Chakotay was ‘hers’ in any way, but the phone stuffed into her apron pocket vibrates accusingly, urging her to get moving and go back to work. “Saved by a vibrating device, Paris,” she quips, blowing him a kiss with the tips of her fingers. “Said no man ever.”

–

“What’s the hold-up?” Chakotay smiles at her, most of his attention focused on creating elaborate designs with fruit-flavored sprinkles, three little kids lined up on the other side of the counter watching him with round, wide eyes. Kathryn takes advantage of his distraction to watch the precise, steady movements of his hands for a few more seconds. The man  _does_ have beautiful hands, not to mention his fingers and…

Her mind comes to a screeching halt, mental alarms blazing. Could Tom actually be right about something? Could her ( _mostly_ innocent) bantering with Chakotay have some hidden meaning she’s not quite ready to admit to anyone yet?

“Chakotay to Janeway. Do you read me?”

She blinks and returns his smile, suddenly feeling rather weak around the knees. “Loud and clear. Sorry, I was just thinking about something Tom said, and—“

“Thinking of another man whilst being in my exquisite company? I’m wounded, Kathryn. I may never recover.”

She snorts under her breath, squeezing past him (the man is  _large_ , although his size inspires the feeling of safety rather than claustrophobia) to get to the espresso machine and check on outstanding orders. “I’m sure you’d have had plenty of help in regaining your faculties. Why, that lady over there,” her eyes flick to the willowy blonde who’s been frequenting the café for a few weeks now, and always when Chakotay is on, “might be more than willing to do the job.”

“Nah,” Chakotay shrugs, passing the last milkshake to a beaming kid and offering their mother a radiant smile, “I think I’ll pass. Blondes just don’t  _do it_  for me, you know? Not enough… spunk, I’d say. Besides, did you notice how tall she is? Six foot one, if I’m not mistaken. Put some heels on her, and my neck would snap from craning up.”

“Might do you good to find yourself in that situation for once,” she quips; their height difference is almost ridiculous, he often jokes about packing her into his lunchbox and getting away with a perfect crime of kidnapping. Chakotay flashes another dimpled grin in her direction, and Kathryn has to do her best to focus on the order she’s taking (venti, half-whole milk, half-skimmed, an extra shot of espresso and a touch of vanilla syrup—who would even  _drink_ that monstrosity in the first place?! Coffee has no business being overly diluted with milk and having its taste falsified by additives, at least according to the Kathryn Janeway’s Book of Wisdom).

“I would happily carry you around everywhere, if it made you feel better,” Chakotay declares, and Kathryn’s customers—two elderly ladies, one fond of overly complicated coffee, the other still debating the issue with herself—sigh in unison, eyeing the barista appreciatively. Kathryn bites her lip to stop herself from rolling her eyes (or worse, smiling like an idiot), and moves behind the machine and away from the customers’ prying eyes.

“You’d grow tired of it very soon,” she mutters out of the corner of her mouth, adding the syrup and trying not to flinch visibly at the profanity. Chakotay, having moved into the space next to her to prepare the other cup (why is it that he always gets straightforward espressos and ristrettos, while she has to bend her brain around quadruple mochacchinos and frappes?), gives her a lingering look.

“You’ll never know that until you let me try.”

He takes both coffees and walks to the other side of the counter with them, leaving Kathryn completely stunned, staring at the machine but not seeing anything at all. This is something way out of bounds of their usual banter. This is a serious proposition, an invitation to extend the limit of their working relationship onto a completely new ground. Is she ready for it? More to the point, is she  _willing_?

One look back at her co-worker, complimenting the ladies on their crocheted mittens, provides her with an answer to this question.

“Okay,” she tells him when he comes back, and watches with no small amount of satisfaction as he, in turn, blanches out and stares at her uncomprehendingly.

“Okay, what?” he asks hesitantly, and she smiles, giving his hand a short, reassuring squeeze once she’s sure nobody is watching them.

“Okay, I’ll let you try.”

He stares at her mouth for a moment too long than strictly appropriate and nods: a curt, business-like gesture that raises up a bunch of butterflies in her stomach. “After the shift?”

It’s her turn to look at his lips, slightly parted as he waits for her reply. She wonders idly what he tastes like: he never partakes in coffee while at work, which is utterly inconceivable for her—what would it be like to find out? Her nod is much slower, almost thoughtful, but no less binding.

“After the shift.”

–

Turns out, he’s all spice: herbal tea and sage, and just a hint of burnt wood—but that last note might have something to do with the open fireplace in his house. Kathryn decides, settling herself comfortably to sleep and breathing in the tangy sweat cooling off on Chakotay’s lovely, golden skin, that the issue of smell, taste and other sensations requires further study—and  _lots_ of it.

For now, though, she’s too blissful to do any more thinking.

–

“I don’t understand,” Tom exclaims, pacing the alley back and forth and taking long, hungry drags on his cigarette, “what happened? Dad tells me it’s all back to normal, the customer flow, the weekly sales… and yet, it doesn’t look like you and Chuckles had a major fall-out. Work with me here, Janeway—what is this magic the two of you’ve been making, huh?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, unusually warm on this bleak November afternoon, despite wearing only an oversized (that is,  _borrowed_ ) shirt over her uniform.

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Tom.”

**/end**


End file.
